Padre Ignacio; or, The song of temptation

PADRE A
IGNACIO

UC-NRLF

OWEN WISTER

THE LIBRARY

OF

THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA

BEQUEST OF

Alice R. Hilgard

"THE CONVERT SAT IN HIS CHAIR NO LONGER, BUT STOOD
SINGING BY THE PIANO "

PADRE
IGNACIO

OR

THE SONG OF TEMPTATION

BY

OWEN WISTER

HARPER & BROTHERS

NEW YORK AND LONDON

M - C - M X I

COPYRIGHT. 1900. 1911. BY HARPER ft BROTHERS

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

PUBLISHED SEPTEMBER. 191]

r t

GIFT

W&n

PADRE IGNACIO

M881029

PADRE IGNACIO

T Santa Ysabel del Mar the sea
son was at one of those moments
when the air ' rests quiet over
land and sea* The old breezes
were gone; the new ones were not
yet risen* The flowers in the mission gar
den opened wide ; no wind came by day
or night to shake the loose petals from
their stems* Along the basking, silent,
many-colored shore gathered and lingered
the crisp odors of the mountains* The
dust hung golden and motionless long after

the rider was behind the hill, and the Pa-
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PADRE IGNACIO

cific lay like a floor of sapphire, whereon
to walk beyond the setting sun into the
East* One white sail shone there* In
stead of an hour, it had been from dawn
till afternoon in sight between the short
headlands; and the Padre had hoped that
it might be the ship his homesick heart
awaited* But it had slowly passed* From
an arch in his garden cloisters he was now
watching the last of it* Presently it was
gone, and the great ocean lay empty* The
Padre put his glasses in his lap. For a short
while he read in his breviary, but soon for
got it again* He looked at the flowers and
stinny ridges, then at the huge blue triangle
of sea which the opening of the hills let into
sight* ** Paradise," he murmured, 44 need not
hold more beauty and peace* But I think
I would exchange all my remaining years
of this for one sight again of Paris or Se
ville* May God forgive me such a thought I"
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PADRE IGNACIO

Across the unstirred fragrance of olean
ders the bell for vespers began to ring.
Its tones passed over the Padre as he
watched the sea in his garden. They
reached his parishioners in their adobe
dwellings near by. The gentle circles of
sound floated outward upon the smooth,
immense silence — over the vines and pear-
trees ; down the avenues of the olives ;
into the planted fields, whence women and
children began to return; then out of the
lap of the valley along the yellow uplands,
where the men that rode among the cattle
paused, looking down like birds at the map
of their home. Then the sound widened,
faint, unbroken, until it met Temptation
in the guise of a youth, riding tow
ard the Padre from the South, and
cheered the steps of Temptation's jaded
horse*

"For a day, one single day of Paris !"
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PADRE IGNACIO

repeated the Padre, gazing through his
cloisters at the empty sea.

Once in the year the mother-world re
membered him* Once in the year, from
Spain, tokens and home-tidings came to
him, sent by certain beloved friends of his
youth. A barkentine brought him these
messages* Whenever thus the mother-
world remembered him, it was like the touch
of a warm hand, a dear and tender caress;
a distant life, by him long left behind, seemed
to be drawing the exile homeward from
these alien shores* As the time for his
letters and packets drew near, the eyes of
Padre Ignacio would be often fixed wist
fully upon the harbor, watching for the
barkentine* Sometimes, as to-day, he mis
took other sails for hers, but hers he mis
took never* That Pacific Ocean, which, for
all its hues and jeweled mists, he could not

learn to love, had, since long before his day,
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PADRE IGNACIO

been furrowed by the keels of Spain, Trad
ers, and adventurers, and men of God had
passed along this coast, planting their col
onies and cloisters; but it was not his ocean*
In the year that we, a thin strip of patriots
away over on the Atlantic edge of the con
tinent, declared ourselves an independent
nation, a Spanish ship, in the name of Saint
Francis, was unloading the centuries of her
own civilization at the Golden Gate* San
Diego had come earlier. Then, slowly, as
mission after mission was built along the
soft coast wilderness, new ports were estab
lished — at Santa Barbara, and by Point San
Luis for San Luis Obispo, which lay inland
a little way up the gorge where it opened
among the hills* Thus the world reached
these missions by water; while on land,
through the mountains, a road led to them,
and also to many more that were too dis
tant behind the hills for ships to serve — a
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PADRE IGNACIO

rough road, long and lonely, punctuated
with church towers and gardens* For the
Fathers gradually so stationed their settle
ments that the traveler might each morn
ing ride out from one mission and by even
ing of a day's fair journey ride into the
next* A lonely, rough, dangerous road, but
lovely, too, with a name like music — El
Camino Real. Like music also were the
names of the missions — San Juan Capis-
trano, San Luis Rey de Francia, San
Miguel, Santa Ynez — their very list is a
song*

So there, by-and-by, was our continent,
with the locomotive whistling from Savan
nah to Boston along its eastern edge, and
on the western the scattered chimes of Spain,
ringing among the unpeopled mountains*
Thus grew the two sorts of civilization —
not equally* We know what has happened
since* To-day the locomotive is whistling
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PADRE IGNACIO

also from The Golden Gate to San Diego;
but still the old mission-road goes through
the mountains, and along it the foot
steps of vanished Spain are marked with
roses, and broken cloisters, and the cru
cifix.

But this was J855. Only the barkentine
brought to Padre Ignacio the signs from the
world that he once had known and loved so
dearly. As for the new world making a
rude noise to the northward, he trusted that
it might keep away from Santa Ysabel, and
he waited for the vessel that was over
due with its package containing his single
worldly luxury.

As the little, ancient bronze bell con
tinued swinging in the tower, its plaintive
call reached something in the Padre's
memory. Softly, absently, he began to
sing. He took up the slow strain not

quite correctly, and dropped it, and took
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PADRE IGNACIO

it up again, always in cadence with
the bell:

At length he heard himself, and, glancing
at the belfry, smiled a little* "It is a
pretty ttme," he said, " and it always made
me sorry for poor Fra Diavolo* Auber him
self confessed to me that he had made it
sad and put the hermitage bell to go with
it, because he too was grieved at having to
kill his villain, and wanted him, if possible,
to die in a religious frame of mind* And
Attber touched glasses with me and said —
how well I remember it! — * Is it the good
Lord, or is it merely the devil, that makes
me always have a weakness for rascals?' I

told him it was the devil* I was not a
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PADRE IGNACIO

priest then* I could not be so sure with
my answer now/' And then Padre Ignacio
repeated Auber's remark in French: ' * Est-
ce le bon Diet*, ou est-ce bien le diable, qui
veut toujours que faime ies coquins?' I
don't know! I don't know! I wonder if
Auber has composed anything lately? I
wonder who is singing 'Zerlina' now?"

He cast a farewell look at the ocean, and
took his steps between the monastic herbs,
the jasmines and the oleanders to the sac
risty* " At least," he said, " if we cannot
carry with tis into exile the friends and the
places we have loved, music will go whither
we go, even to an end of the world such as
this* — Felipe!" he called to his organist*
44 Can they sing the music I taught them
for the Dixit Dominus to-night?"

" Yes, father, surely*"

44 Then we will have that. And, Felipe—"
The Padre crossed the chancel to the small,
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PADRE IGNACIO

shabby organ* " Rise, my child, and listen.
Here is something you can learn* Why* see
now if you cannot learn it from a single
hearing."

The swarthy boy of sixteen stood watch
ing his master's fingers* delicate and white,
as they played* Thus* of his own accord, he
had begun to watch them when a child of
six; and the Padre had taken the wild,
half-scared, spellbound creature and made
a musician of him*

" There, Felipe!" he said now. " Can
you do it? Slower, and more softly,
muchacho mio* It is about the death
of a man, and it should go with our
bell."

The boy listened* " Then the father has
played it a tone too low," said he, " for
our bell rings the note of sol* or something
very near it, as the father must surely
know." He placed the melody in the right
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PADRE IGNACIO

key — an easy thing for him; and the Padre
was delighted*

" Ah, my Felipe/' he exclaimed, " what
could you and I not do if we had a better
organ! Only a little better ! See ! above
this row of keys would be a second row, and
many more stops* Then we would make
such music as has never yet been heard
in California* But my people are so poor
and so few! And some day I shall have
passed from them, and it will be too late*"

44 Perhaps/' ventured Felipe, " the Ameri

canos — "

"They care nothing for us, Felipe* They
are not of our religion — or of any religion,
from what I can hear* Don't forget my
Dixii Dominus."

The Padre retired once more to the
sacristy, while the horse that brought
Temptation came over the hill*

The hour of service drew near; and as

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PADRE IGNACIO

the Padre waited he once again stepped out
for a look at the ocean; but the blue tri
angle of water lay like a picture in its frame
of land, bare as the sky* " I think, from
the color, though," said he, " that a little
more wind must have begun out there/'

The bell rang a last short summons to
prayer. Along the road from the south a
young rider, leading a pack-animal, ambled
into the mission and dismounted* Church
was not so much in his thoughts as food and,
after due digestion, a bed; but the doors
stood open, and, as everybody was passing
within them, more variety was to be gained
by joining this company than by waiting
outside alone until they should return from
their devotions* So he seated himself in a
corner near the entrance, and after a brief,
jaunty glance at the sunburned, shaggy con
gregation, made himself as comfortable as

might be* He had not seen a face worth
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PADRE IGNACIO

keeping his eyes open for* The simple choir
and simple fold, gathered for even-song, paid
him no attention — a rough American bound
for the mines was bat an object of aversion
to them.

The Padre, of course, had been instantly
aware of the stranger's presence* To be
aware of unaccustomed presences is the
sixth sense with vicars of every creed and
heresy; and if the parish is lonely and the
worshipers few and seldom varying, a new
comer will gleam out like a new book to be
read* And a trained priest learns to read
keenly the faces of those who assemble to
worship under his guidance* But Amer
ican vagrants, with no thoughts save of gold-
digging, and an overweening illiterate jar
gon for speech, had long ceased to interest
this priest, even in his starvation for com
pany and talk from the outside world; and
therefore after the intoning he sat with his
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PADRE IGNACIO

homesick thoughts unchanged, to draw both
pain and enjoyment from the music that
he had set to the Dixii Dominas. He
listened to the tender chorus that opens
William Tell; and, as the Latin psalm pro
ceeded, pictures of the past rose between
him and the altar* One after another came
these strains he had taken from operas
famous in their day, until at length the
Padre was murmuring to some music sel
dom long out of his heart — not the Latin
verse which the choir sang, but the original
French words:

"Ah, voila mon envie,

Voila mon seal desir:
Rendez moi ma patrie,
Ott laissez moi mottrir."

Which may be rendered:

Bat one wish I implore,

One wish is all my cry:
Give back my native land once more,

Give back, or let me die.
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PADRE IGNACIO

Then it happened that his eye fell again
upon the stranger near the door, and he
straightway forgot his Dixit Dominus. The
face of the young man was no longer hidden
by the slouching position he had at first
taken* 44 1 only noticed his clothes at
first," thought the Padre* Restlessness was
plain upon the handsome brow, and violence
was in the mouth; but Padre Ignacio liked
the eyes* " He is not saying any prayers/'
he surmised, presently* 44 1 doubt if he has
said any for a long while* And he knows
my music* He is of educated people* He
cannot be American* And now — yes, he
has taken — I think it must be a flower,
from his pocket* I shall have him to dine
with me*" And vespers ended with rosy
clouds of eagerness drifting across the
Padre's brain*

II

UT the stranger made his own be
ginning* As the priest came from
the church, the rebellious young
figure was waiting* " Your or
ganist tells me," he said, impetu
ously, " that it is you who — "

44 May I ask with whom I have the great
pleasure of speaking?" said the Padre, put
ting formality to the front and his pleasure
out of sight*

The stranger's face reddened beneath its
sun-beaten bronze, and he became aware of
the Padre's pale features* molded by re
finement and the world* ** I beg your le
nience," said he, with a graceful and con
fident utterance, as of equal to equal. " My
16

PADRE IGNACIO

name is Gaston Villere, and it was time I
should be reminded of my manners/'

The Padre's hand waved a polite nega
tive.

44 Indeed, yest Padre. But your music
has amazed me* If you carried such as
sociations as — Ah ! the days and the
nights r — he broke off* 44 To come down
a California mountain and find Paris at the
bottom! The Huguenots, Rossini* Herold
— I was waiting for // Trcfbaiore"

44 Is that something new?" inquired the
Padre, eagerly*

The young man gave an exclamation*
" The whole world is ringing with it!" he
cried.

44 But Santa Ysabel del Mar is a long way
from the whole world," murmured Padre
Ignacio.

44 Indeed, it would not appear to be so,"
returned young Gaston* " I think the
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PADRE IGNACIO

Comedie Francaise must be round the

corner/'

A thrill went through the priest at the
theater's name* " And have you been long
in America ?" he asked*

"Why, always — except two years of for
eign travel after college/'

" An American!" exclaimed the surprised
Padre, with perhaps a tone of disappoint
ment in his voice* *4 But no Americans
who are yet come this way have been — have
been " — he veiled the too-blunt expression
of his thought — " have been familiar with
The Huguenots" he f inished* making a slight
bow*

Villere took his under-meaning* " I come
from New Orleans/' he returned* " And in
New Orleans there live many of us who can
recognize a — who can recognize good music
wherever we hear it/' And he made a
slight bow in his turn.
IS

PADRE IGNACIO

The Padre laughed outright with pleasure
and laid his hand upon the yotmg man's
arm* " You have no intention of going
away to-morrow, I trust?"

" With your leave," answered Gaston, " I
will have such an intention no longer/'

It was with the air and gait of mutual
understanding that the two now walked
on together toward the Padre's door. The
guest was twenty-five, the host sixty.

" And have you been in America long?"
inquired Gaston.

" Twenty years."

" And at Santa Ysabel how long?"

44 Twenty years."

44 1 should have thought," said Gaston,
looking lightly at the desert and unpeopled
mountains, 44 that now and again you might
have wished to travel."

14 Were I your age," murmured Padre Ig-
nacio, "it might be so."
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PADRE IGNACIO

The evening had now ripened to the long
after-glow of sunset* The sea was the pur
ple of grapes* and wine-colored hues flowed
among the high shoulders of the mountains*

44 1 have seen a sight like this," said Gas-
ton, " between Granada and Malaga*"

" So you know Spain!" said the Padre*

Often he had thought of this resemblance,
but never till now met any one to share his
thought* The courtly proprietor of San
Fernando and the other patriarchal ran-
cheros with whom he occasionally exchanged
visits across the wilderness knew hospitality
and inherited gentle manners, sending to
Europe for silks and laces to give their
daughters; but their eyes had not looked
upon Granada, and their ears had never
listened to William Tell

44 It is quite singular," pursued Gaston,
44 how one nook in the world will suddenly

remind you of another nook that may be
20

PADRE IGNACIO

thousands of miles away* One morning,
behind the Quai Voltaire, an old, yellow
house with rtisty balconies made me almost
homesick for New Orleans/'

" The Quai Voltaire!" said the Padre.

" I heard Rachel in Valerie that night,"
the young man went on* " Did you know
that she could sing, too? She sang several
verses by an astonishing little Jew violon
cellist that is come up over there."

The Padre gazed down at his blithe guest.
" To see somebody, somebody, once again,
is very pleasant to a hermit!"

44 It cannot be more pleasant than arriv
ing at an oasis," returned Gaston.

They had delayed on the threshold to look
at the beauty of the evening, and now the
priest watched his parishioners come and
go* " How can one make companions — "
he began; then, checking himself, he said:

" Their souls are as sacred and immortal as
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PADRE IGNACIO

mine, and God helps me to help them* Btrt
in this world it is not immortal souls that we
choose for companions; it is kindred tastes,
intelligences, and — and so I and my books
are growing old together, you see," he add
ed, more lightly. * You will find my vol
umes as behind the times as myself/'

He had fallen into talk more intimate
than he wished; and while the guest was
uttering something polite about the nobility
of missionary work, he placed him in an
easy -chair and sought aguardiente for his
immediate refreshment. Since the year's
beginning there had been no guest for him
to bring into his rooms, or to sit beside him
in the high seats at table, set apart for the
genie fina.

Such another library was not then in

California; and though Gaston Villere, in

leaving Harvard College, had shut Horace

and Sophocles for ever at the earliest in-

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PADRE IGNACIO

slant possible tinder academic requirements,
he knew the Greek and Latin names that he
now saw as well as he knew those of Shak-
spere, Dante, Moliere, and Cervantes. These
were here also; but it could not be precisely
said of them, either, that they made a part
of the young man's daily reading. As he
surveyed the Padre's august shelves, it was
with a touch of the histrionic Southern grav
ity which his Northern education had not
wholly schooled out of him that he said:

44 1 fear I am no scholar, sir* But I know
what writers every gentleman ought to re
spect/'

The polished Padre bowed gravely to this
compliment.

It was when his eyes caught sight of the
music that the young man felt again at
ease, and his vivacity returned to him.
Leaving his chair, he began enthusiastically
to examine the tall piles that filled one side
23

PADRE IGNACIO

of the room* The volumes lay piled and
scattered everywhere, making a pleasant
disorder; and, as perfume comes from a
flower, memories of singers and chandeliers
rose bright from the printed names* Norma,
Tancredi* Don Pasquale, La Vestale* dim
lights in the fashions of to-day* sparkled
upon the exploring Gaston, conjuring the
radiant halls of Europe before him* " The
Barber of Seville I" he presently exclaimed*
" And I happened to hear it in Seville*"

But Seville's name brought over the Pa
dre a new rush of home thoughts. " Is
not Andalusia beautiful?" he said* "Did
you see it in April, when the flowers
come?"

44 Yes," said Gaston, among the music.
44 1 was at Cordova then*"

" Ah, Cordova!" murmured the Padre.

" Semiramide /" cried Gaston, lighting
upon that opera* " That was a week! I
24

PADRE IGNACIO

should like to live it over, every day and
night of it!"

44 Did you reach Malaga from Marseilles
or Gibraltar?" asked the Padre, wistfully.

44 From Marseilles* Down from Paris
through the Rhone Valley, you know/'

" Then you saw Provence! And did you
go, perhaps, from Avignon to Nismes by
the Pont du Gard? There is a place I have
made here — a little, little place — with olive-
trees* And now they have grown, and it
looks something like that country, if you
stand in a particular position* I will take
you there to-morrow* I think you will
understand what I mean*"

"Another resemblance!" said the volatile
and happy Gaston* " We both seem to
have an eye for them* But, believe me,
Padre, I could never stay here planting
olives* I should go back and see the origi
nal ones— and then Fd hasten on to Paris*"
25

PADRE IGNACIO

And, with a volume of Meyerbeer open in
his hand, Gaston hummed: " * Robert, Rob
ert, toi que j'aime/ Why, Padre, I think
that your library contains none of the
masses and all of the operas in the world !"

44 1 will make you a little confession/'
said Padre Ignacio, " and then you shall
give me a little absolution/'

" For a penance/' said Gaston ; 44 you
must play over some of these things to me/'

** I suppose I could not permit myself
this luxury," began the Padre, pointing to
his operas, 44 and teach these to my choir,
if the people had any worldly associations
with the music* But I have reasoned that
the music cannot do them harm — "

The ringing of a bell here interrupted
him* 44 In fifteen minutes," he said, 44 our
poor meal will be ready for you." The good
Padre was not quite sincere when he spoke
of a " poor meal/' While getting the aguar-
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PADRE IGNACIO

diente for his guest he had given orders, and
he knew how well such orders would be car
ried out* He lived alone, and generally
sapped simply enough, but not even the
ample table at San Fernando could surpass
his own on occasions* And this was for him
indeed an occasion!

'* Your half-breeds will think I am one of
themselves/' said Gaston* showing his dusty
clothes* " I am not fit to be seated with
you/' But he did not mean this any more
than his host had meant his remark about
the food* In his pack, which an Indian had
brought from his horse, he carried some
garments of civilization* And presently,
after fresh water and not a little painstak
ing with brush and scarf, there came back
to the Padre a young guest whose elegance
and bearing and ease of the great world
were to the exiled priest as sweet as was his
traveled conversation*
27

PADRE IGNACIO

They repaired to the hall and took their
seats at the head of the long table* For
the Spanish centuries of stately custom
lived at Santa Ysabel del Mar* inviolate*
feudal* remote*

They were the only persons of quality
present; and between themselves and the
genie de razon a space intervened. Behind
the Padre's chair stood an Indian to wait
upon him* and another stood behind the
chair of Gaston Villere* Each of these ser
vants wore one single white garment* and
offered the many dishes to the genie fina
and refilled their glasses* At the lower end
of the table a general attendant waited
upon mesdados — the half-breeds* There was
meat with spices* and roasted quail, with
various cakes and other preparations of
grain; also the brown fresh olives and
grapes* with several sorts of figs and plums*
and preserved fruits, and white and red
28

PADRE IGNACIO

wine — the white fifty years old. Beneath
the quiet shining of candles, fresh-cut flow
ers leaned from vessels of old Mexican and
Spanish make*

There at one end of this feast sat the wild,
pastoral* gaudy company, speaking little
over their food; and there at the other the
pale Padre* questioning his visitor about
Rachel* The mere name of a street would
bring memories crowding to his lips; and
when his guest told him of a new play he
was ready with old quotations from the same
author* Alfred de Vigny they spoke of,
and Victor Hugo, whom the Padre disliked*
Long after the duke, or sweet dish, when it
was the custom for the vaqueros and the
rest of the retainers to rise and leave the
genie fina to themselves* the host sat on in
the empty hall, fondly talking to his guest
of his bygone Paris and fondly learning of
the later Paris that the guest had seen* And

5 29

PADRE IGNACIO

thus the two lingered, exchanging their en
thusiasms, while the candles waned, and the
long-haired Indians stood silent behind the
chairs*

" Bat we mast go to my piano," the host
exclaimed* For at length they had come
to a lusty difference of opinion. The Padre,
with ears critically deaf, and with smiling,
unconvinced eyes, was shaking his head,
while young Gaston sang Trovaiore at him,
and beat upon the table with a fork*

44 Come and convert me, then," said Padre
Ignacio, and he led the way* 44 Donizetti I
have always admitted* There, at least, is
refinement* If the world has taken to this
Verdi, with his street-band music — But
there, now! Sit down and convert me*
Only don't crush my poor little Erard with
Verdi's hoofs* I brought it when I came.
It is behind the times, too* And, oh, my
dear boy, our organ is still worse* So old,
30

PADRE IGNACIO

so old! To get a proper one I would sacri
fice even this piano of mine in a moment —
only the tinkling thing is not worth a sou
to anybody except its master* But there!
Are you quite comfortable ?" And having
seen to his guest's needs, and placed spirits
and cigars and an ash-tray within his reach,
the Padre sat himself comfortably in his
chair to hear and expose the false doctrine of
77 Trdbatore.

By midnight all of the opera that Gaston
could recall had been played and sung twice*
The convert sat in his chair no longer, but
stood singing by the piano* The potent
swing and flow of rhythms, the torrid, copi
ous inspiration of the South, mastered him*
44 Verdi has grown/' he cried* " Verdi is
become a giant*" And he swayed to the
beat of the melodies, and waved an en
thusiastic arm* He demanded every note*

Why did not Gaston remember it all? But
31

PADRE IGNACIO

if the barkentine would arrive and bring the
whole music, then they would have it right!
And he made Gaston teach him what words
he knew* * Non ti scordar/ " he sang —

* non ti scordar di me/ That is genius.
But one sees how the world moves when one
is out of it* ' A nostri monti ritorneremo';
home to our mountains. Ah, yes. there is
genius again/' And the exile sighed and
his spirit voyaged to distant places* while
Gaston continued brilliantly with the music
of the final scene.

Then the host remembered his guest. " I
am ashamed of my selfishness," he said.
" It is already to-morrow/'

" I have sat later in less good company/'
answered the pleasant Gaston. " And I shall
sleep all the sounder for making a convert/'

14 You have dispensed roadside alms/'
said the Padre, smiling. " And that should
win excellent dreams."
32

PADRE IGNACIO

Thus, with courtesies more elaborate than
the world has time for at the present day,
they bade each other good-night and parted,
bearing their late candles along the quiet
halls of the mission* To young Gaston in
his bed easy sleep came without waiting,
and no dreams at all. Outside his open
window was the quiet, serene darkness,
where the stars shone clear, and tranquil
perfumes hung in the cloisters* But while
the guest lay sleeping all night in unchanged
position like a child, up and down between
the oleanders went Padre Ignacio, walking
until dawn. Temptation indeed had come
over the hill and entered the cloisters*

in

AY showed the ocean's surface no
longer glassy, but lying tike a mir
ror breathed upon; and there be
tween the short headlands came a
sail, gray and plain against the
flat water* The priest watched through his
glasses, and saw the gradual sun grow strong
upon the canvas of the barkentine* The
message from his world was at hand, yet
to-day he scarcely cared so much. Sitting
in his garden yesterday, he could never have
imagined such a change. But his heart did
not hail the barkentine as usual. Books,
music, pale paper, and print — this was all
that was coming to him, and some of its

savor had gone; for the siren voice of Life
34

PADRE IGNACIO

had been speaking with him face to face, and
in his spirit, deep down, the love of the
world was restlessly answering it. Young
Gaston showed more eagerness than the
Padre over this arrival of the vessel that
might be bringing Trobatore in the nick
of time. Now he would have the chance,
before he took his leave, to help rehearse the
new music with the choir. He would be a
missionary, too: a perfectly new experience.

44 And you still forgive Verdi the sins of
his youth?" he said to his host. 44 1 won
der if you could forgive mine?"

" Verdi has left his behind him," retorted
the Padre.

44 But I am only twenty-five!" exclaimed
Gaston, pathetically.

" Ah, don't go away soon!" pleaded the
exile. It was the first unconcealed com
plaint that had escaped him, and he felt
instant shame.

35

PADRE IGNACIO

But Gaston was too much elated with the
enjoyment of each new day to comprehend
the Padre's soul* The shafts of another's
pain might hardly pierce the bright armor
of his gaiety. He mistook the priest's en
treaty, for anxiety about his own happy
spirit.

44 Stay here under your care?" he asked.
44 It would do me no goodt Padre. Tempta
tion sticks closer to me than a brother!"
and he gave that laugh of his which had dis
armed severer judges than his host. " By
next week I should have introduced some
sin or other into your beautiful Garden of
Ignorance here. It will be much safer for
your flock if I go and join the other serpents
at San Francisco."

Soon after breakfast the Padre had his

two mules saddled, and he and his guest

set forth down the hills together to the

shore. And, beneath the spell and confi-

36

PADRE IGNACIO

dence of pleasant, slow riding and the
loveliness of everything, the young man
talked freely of himself*

44 And, seriously," said he, " if I missed
nothing else at Santa Ysabel, I should long
for — how shall I say it? — for insecurity, for
danger, and of all kinds — not merely danger
to the body* Within these walls, beneath
these sacred bells, you live too safe for a man
like me/'

44 Too safe!" These echoed words upon
the lips of the pale Padre were a whisper
too light, too deep, for Gaston's heedless
ear*

** Why," the young man pursued in a
spirit that was but half levity, 44 though I
yield often to temptation, at times I have
resisted it, and here I should miss the very
chance to resist* Your garden could never
be Eden for me, because temptation is ab
sent from it*"

6 37

PADRE IGNACIO

44 Absent!'' Still lighter, still deeper, was
this whisper that the Padre breathed*

44 1 must find life!" exclaimed Gaston*
" And my fortune at the mines, I hope* I
am not a bad fellow, Father* You can easily
guess all the things I do* I have never, to
my knowledge, harmed any one* I didn't
even try to kill my adversary in an affair
of honor* I gave him a mere flesh-woimd,
and by this time he must be quite recovered*
He was my friend* But as he came between

me—"

Gaston stopped, and the Padre, looking
keenly at him, saw the violence that he had
noticed in church pass like a flame over the
young man's handsome face.

"There's nothing dishonorable," said Gas-
ton, answering the priest's look* And then,
because this look made him not quite at his
ease: " Perhaps a priest might feel obliged
to say it was dishonorable* She and her
38

PADRE IGNACIO

father were — a man owes no fidelity before
he is — but you might say that had been dis
honorable/'

44 1 have not said so, my son/'

44 1 did what every gentleman would do,"
insisted Gaston*

44 And that is often wrong!" said the
Padre, gently and gravely* 44 But I'm not
your confessor/'

44 No," said Gaston, looking down* 44 And
it is all over* It will not begin again* Since
leaving New Orleans I have traveled an in
nocent journey straight to you* And when
I make my fortune I shall be in a position
to return and — "

44 Claim the pressed flower?" suggested the
Padre* He did not smile*

44 Ah, you remember how those things
are!" said Gaston; and he laughed and
blushed*

44 Yes," said the Padre, looking at the an-
39

PADRE IGNACIO

chored barkentine, 4t I remember how those
things are/'

For a while the vessel and its cargo and
the landed men and various business and
conversations occupied them* But the
freight for the mission once seen to, there
was not much else to detain them*

The barkentine was only a coaster like
many others which had began to fill the sea
a little more of late years, and presently
host and guest were riding homeward*
Side by side they rode* companions to the
eye. but wide apart in mood; within the
turbulent young figure of Gaston dwelt a
spirit that could not be more at ease* while
revolt was steadily kindling beneath the
schooled and placid mask of the Padre*

Yet still the strangeness of his situation

in such a remote* resourceless place came

back as a marvel into the young man's lively

mind. Twenty years in prison* he thought*

40

PADRE IGNACIO

and hardly aware of it! And he glanced at
the silent priest. A man so evidently fond
of music, of theaters, of the world, to whom
pressed flowers had meant something once
— and now contented to bleach upon these
wastes! Not even desirous of a brief holi
day, but finding an old organ and some old
operas enough recreation! " It is his age, I
suppose," thought Gaston* And then the
notion of himself when he should be sixty
occurred to him, and he spoke*

44 Do you know, I do not believe," said
he, 44 that I should ever reach such con
tentment as yours/'

44 Perhaps you will," said Padre Ignacio,
in a low voice*

44 Never!" declared the youth* 44 It comes
only to the few, I am sure*"

14 Yes* Only to the few," murmured the
Padre*

" I am certain that it must be a great
41

PADRE IGNACIO

possession," Gaston continued; " and yet
— and yet — dear me! life is a splendid
thing!"

44 There are several ways to live it," said
the Padre.

44 Only one for me!" cried Gaston. "Ac
tion, men, women, things — to be there, to
be known, to play a part, to sit in the
front seats; to have people tell one another,
4 There goes Gaston VillereT and to deserve
one's prominence. Why, if I were Padre
of Santa Ysabel del Mar for twenty years —
no! for one year — do you know what I
should have done? Some day it would
have been too much for me. I should have
left these savages to a pastor nearer their
own level, and I should have ridden down
this canon upon my mule, and stepped on
board the barkentine, and gone back to my
proper sphere. You will understand, sir,
that I am far from venturing to make any
42

PADRE IGNACIO

personal comment* I am only thinking
what a world of difference lies between
natures that can feel as alike as we do upon
so many subjects* Why. not since leaving
New Orleans have I met any one with whom
I could talk, except of the weather and the
brute interests common to us all. That
such a one as you should be here is like a
dream*"

44 But it is not a dream/' said the Padre*

44 And, sir — pardon me if I do say this —
are you not wasted at Santa Ysabel del Mar?
I have seen the priests at the other missions*
They are — the sort of good men that I ex
pected* But are you needed to save such
souls as these?"

" There is no aristocracy of souls," said
the Padre, again whispering*

" But the body and the mind!" cried Gas-
ton. 44 My God, are they nothing? Do you
think that they are given to us for nothing
43

PADRE IGNACIO

but a trap? You cannot teach such a doc
trine with your library there. And how
about all the cultivated men and women
away from whose quickening society the
brightest of us grow numb? You have held
out. But will it be for long? Are you
never to save any souls of your own kind ?
Are not twenty years of mesdados enough?
No, no!" finished young Gastont hot with
his unforeseen eloquence; " I should ride
down some morning and take the barken-
tine."

Padre Ignacio was silent for a space.

44 1 have not offended you?" asked the
young man.

" No. Anything but that. You are sur
prised that I should — choose — to stay here.
Perhaps you may have wondered how I
came to be here at all?"

" I had not intended any impertinent — "

" Oh no. Put such an idea out of your
44

PADRE IGNACIO

head, my son. You may remember that I
was going to make you a confession about
my operas. Let us sit down in this shade/'
So they picketed the mules near the
stream and sat down.
7

IV

-

•HJ

OU have seen," began Padre
Ignacio, "what sort of a man
I — was once* Indeed, it seems
very strange to myself that you
should have been here not
twenty-four hours yet, and know so much of
me* For there has come no one else at all "
— the Padre paused a moment and mastered
the unsteadiness that he had felt approach
ing in his voice — " there has been no one else
to whom I have talked so freely* In my
early days I had no thought of being a priest.
My parents destined me for a diplomatic
career* There was plenty of money and —
and all the rest of it; for by inheritance
came to me the acquaintance of many peo-
46

PADRE IGNACIO

pie whose names you would be likely to
have heard of. Cities, people of fashion,
artists — the whole of it was my element
and my choice; and by-and-by I married,
not only where it was desirable, but where
I loved. Then for the first time Death
laid his staff upon my enchantment, and I
understood many things that had been only
words to me hitherto. To have been a hus
band for a year, and a father for a moment,
and in that moment to lose all — this un-
blinded me. Looking back, it seemed to
me that I had never done anything except
for myself all my days. I left the world.
In due time I became a priest and lived in
my own country. But my worldly expe
rience and my secular education had given
to my opinions a turn too liberal for the
place where my work was laid. I was soon
advised concerning this by those in au
thority over me. And since they could not
47

PADRE IGNACIO

change me and I could not change them,
yet wished to work and to teach, the New
World was suggested, and I volunteered to
give the rest of my life to missions. It was
soon found that some one was needed here,
and for this little place I sailed, and to these
humble people I have dedicated my service*
They are pastoral creatures of the soil.
Their vineyard and cattle days are apt to
be like the sun and storm around them —
strong alike in their evil and in their good.
All their years they live as children — chil
dren with men's passions given to them like
deadly weapons, unable to measure the harm
their impulses may bring. Hence, even in
their crimes, their hearts will generally open
soon to the one great key of love, while civili
zation makes locks which that key cannot
always fit at the first turn. And coming to
know this/' said Padre Ignacio, fixing his
eyes steadily upon Gaston, " you will under-
48

PADRE IGNACIO

stand how great a privilege it is to help stich
people, and how the sense of something
accomplished — under God — should bring
Contentment with Renunciation/'

" Yes/' said Gaston Villere* Then, think
ing of himself, " I can understand it in a man
like you/'

44 Do not speak of me at all!" exclaimed
the Padre, almost passionately* " But pray
Heaven that you may find the thing your
self some day — Contentment with Renun
ciation — and never let it go/'

44 Amen!" said Gaston, strangely moved.

" That is the whole of my story," the
priest continued, with no more of the recent
stress in his voice* " And now I have talked
to you about myself quite enough* But
you must have my confession*" He had
now resumed entirely his half-playful tone*
44 1 was just a little mistaken, you see — too

self-reliant, perhaps — when I supposed, in
49

PADRE IGNACIO

my first missionary ardor, that I could get
on without any remembrance of the world
at all* I found that I could not* And so
I have taught the old operas to my choir-
such parts of them as are within our com
pass and suitable for worship* And cer
tain of my friends still alive at home are
good enough to remember this taste of
mine and to send me each year some of the
new music that I should never hear of
otherwise* Then we study these things
also. And although our organ is a miser
able affair* Felipe manages very cleverly
to make it do* And while the voices are
singing these operas, especially the old
ones, what harm is there if sometimes the
priest is thinking of something else? So
there's my confession! And now, whether
Trovatore is come or not, I shall not allow
you to leave us until you have taught all

you know of it to Felipe*"
50

PADRE IGNACIO

The new opera, however, had duly ar
rived* And as he turned its pages Padre
Ignacio was quick to seize at once upon the
music that could be taken into his church*
Some of it was ready fitted* By that after
noon Felipe and his choir could have ren
dered " Ah! se 1' error t' ingombra " with
out slip or falter*

Those were strange rehearsals of 77
Trwatore upon this California shore* For
the Padre looked to Gaston to say when
they went too fast or too slow, and to correct
their emphasis* And since it was hot, the
little Erard piano was carried each day out
into the mission garden* There, in the
cloisters among the jessamine, the orange
blossoms, the oleanders, in the presence of
the round yellow hills and the blue triangle
of sea, the Miserere was slowly learned* The
Mexicans and Indians gathered, swarthy
and black-haired, around the tinkling in-
5J

PADRE IGNACIO

strument that Felipe played; and presiding
over them were young Gaston and the pale
Padre, walking up and down the paths,
beating time or singing now one part and
now another* And so it was that the wild
cattle on the uplands would hear Trwa-
tore hummed by a passing fyaquero, while
the same melody was filling the streets of
the far-off world*

For three days Gaston Villere remained
at Santa Ysabel del Mar; and though not
a word of restlessness came from him, his
host could read San Francisco and the gold
mines in his countenance. No, the young
man could not have stayed here for twenty
years! And the Padre forbore urging his
guest to extend his visit*

" But the world is small," the guest de
clared at parting* " Some day it will
not be able to spare you any longer*

And then we are sure to meet. But
52

PADRE IGNACIO

you shall hear from me soon, at any
rate/'

Again, as upon the first evening, the two
exchanged a few courtesies, more graceful
and particular than we, who have not time,
and fight no duels, find worth a man's
while at the present day* For duels are
gone, which is a very good thing, and with
them a certain careful politeness, which is
a pity; but that is the way in the eternal
profit and loss* So young Gaston rode
northward out of the mission, back to the
world and his fortune; and the Padre stood
watching the dust after the rider had passed
from sight* Then he went into his room
with a drawn face* But appearances at
least had been kept up to the end; the
youth would never know of the elder man's
unrest*

8

EMPTATION had arrived with
Gastont but was destined to make
a longer stay at Santa Ysabel del
Mar. Yet it was perhaps a week
before the priest knew this guest
was come to abide with him. The guest
could be discreet, could withdraw, was not
at first importunate.

Sail away on the barkentine? A wild
notion, to be sure! although fit enough
to enter the brain of such a young scape
grace. The Padre shook his head and
smiled affectionately when he thought of
Gaston Villere. The youth's handsome,
reckless countenance would shine out, smil
ing, in his memory, and he repeated Auber's
54

PADRE IGNACIO

old remark, " Is it the good Lord, or is it
merely the devil, that always makes me
have a weakness for rascals?"

Sail away on the barkentine! Imagine
taking leave of the people here — of Felipe!
In what words should he tell the boy to go
on industriously with his music? No, this
was not imaginable! The mere parting
alone would make it for ever impossible to
think of such a thing* " And then," he
said to himself each new morning, when he
looked out at the ocean, " I have given to
them my life* One does not take back a
gift/'

Pictures of his departure began to shine
and melt in his drifting fancy* He saw
himself explaining to Felipe that now his
presence was wanted elsewhere; that there
would come a successor to take care of
Santa Ysabel — a younger man, more useful,
and able to visit sick people at a distance*
55

PADRE IGNACIQ

" For I am old now. I should not be long
here in any case/' He stopped and pressed
his hands together; he had caught his
Temptation in the very act. Now he sat
staring at his Temptation's face, close to him,
while there in the triangle two ships went
sailing by*

One morning Felipe told him that the
barkentine was here on its return voyage
south. " Indeed?'' said the Padre, coldly.
" The things are ready to go, I think." For
the vessel called for mail and certain boxes
that the mission sent away. Felipe left the
room in wonder at the Padre's manner.
But the priest was laughing secretly to see
how little it was to him where the barken
tine was, or whether it should be coming
or going. But in the afternoon, at his
piano, he found himself saying, " Other ships
call here, at any rate." And then for the

first time he prayed to be delivered from
56

PADRE IGNACIO

his thoughts. Yet presently he left his seat
and looked out of the window for a sight
of the barkentine; but it was gone.

The season of the wine-making passed,
and the preserving of all the fruits that the
mission fields grew. Lotions and medicines
were distilled from garden herbs. Perfume
was manufactured from the petals of flowers
and certain spices, and presents of it de
spatched to San Fernando and Ventura, and
to friends at other places; for the Padre
had a special receipt. As the time ran on,
two or three visitors passed a night with
him; and presently there was a word at
various missions that Padre Ignacio had
begun to show his years. At Santa Ysabel
del Mar they whispered, " The Padre is not
well/' Yet he rode a great deal over the
hills by himself, and down the canon very
often, stopping where he had sat with Gas-
ton, to sit alone and look up and down, now
57

PADRE IGNACIO

at the hills above, and now at the ocean
below* Among his parishioners he had cer
tain troubles to soothe, certain wounds to
heal; a home from which he was able to
drive jealousy; a girl whom he bade her
lover set right* But all said* " The Padre
is unwell*" And Felipe told them that
the music seemed nothing to him any more;
he never asked for his Dixii Dominus
nowadays. Then for a short time he was
really in bed, feverish with the two voices
that spoke to him without ceasing. 4 You
have given your life," said one voice* " And,
therefore," said the other, " have earned
the right to go home and die*" ' You are
winning better rewards in the service of
God," said the first voice* " God can be
better served in other places/' answered the
second* As he lay listening he saw Seville
again, and the trees of Aranhal, where he had
been born* The wind was blowing through
58

PADRE IGNACIO

them, and in their branches he could hear
the nightingales* " Empty! Empty!" he
said, aloud* And he lay for two days and
nights hearing the wind and the nightingales
in the far trees of Aranhal* But Felipe,
watching, only heard the Padre crying
through the hours, " Empty! Empty!"

Then the wind in the trees died down,
and the Padre could get out of bed, and
soon be in the garden* But the voices within
him still talked all the while as he sat watch
ing the sails when they passed between the
headlands* Their words, falling for ever
the same way, beat his spirit sore, like blows
upon flesh already bruised* If he could
only change what they said, he would rest*

44 Has the Padre any mail for Santa Bar
bara?" asked Felipe* 44 The ship bound
southward should be here to-morrow*"

" I will attend to it," said the priest, not

moving* And Felipe stole away*
59

PADRE IGNACIO

At Felipe's words the voices had stopped,
as a clock finishes striking* Silence, strained
like expectation, filled the Padre's soul.
But in place of the voices came old sights of
home again, the waving trees at Aranhal;
then it would be Rachel for a moment,
declaiming tragedy while a houseful of
faces that he knew by name watched her;
and through all the panorama rang the
pleasant laugh of Gaston* For a while in
the evening the Padre sat at his Erard
playing Trovatore. Later, in his sleepless
bed he lay, saying now and then: " To
die at home! Surely I may be granted at
least this/' And he listened for the inner
voices* But they were not speaking any
more, and the black hole of silence grew
more dreadful to him than their arguments*
Then the dawn came in at his window, and
he lay watching its gray grow warm into
color, until suddenly he sprang from his
60

PADRE IGNACIO

bed and looked at the sea* Blue it lay, sap-
phire-hued and dancing with points of gold,
lovely and luring as a charm; and over its
triangle the south-bound ship was approach
ing* People were on board who in a few
weeks would be sailing the Atlantic* while he
would stand here looking out of this same
window* " Merciful God!" he cried* sinking
on his knees* " Heavenly Father* Thou
seest this evil in my heart! Thou knowest
that my weak hand cannot pluck it out ! My
strength is breaking, and still Thou makest
my burden heavier than I can bear." He
stopped, breathless and trembling* The
same visions were flitting across his closed
eyes; the same silence gaped like a dry
crater in his soul* " There is no help in
earth or heaven," he said, very quietly; and
he dressed himself*

VI

T was still so early that few of the
Indians were stirring, and one of
these saddled the Padre's mule*
Felipe was not yet awake, and for
a moment it came in the priest's
mind to open the boy's door softly, look at
him once more, and come away* But this
he did not, nor even take a farewell glance
at the church and organ* He bade nothing
farewell, but, turning his back upon his
room and his garden, rode down the canon*
The vessel lay at anchor, and some one
had landed from her and was talking with
other men on the shore* Seeing the priest
slowly coming, this stranger approached to

meet him*

62

PADRE IGNACIO

* You are connected with the mission
here?" he inquired.

44 Perhaps it is with you that Gaston
Villere stopped?"

44 The young man from New Orleans?
Yes* I am Padre Ignacio*"

(< Then you'll save me a journey* I
promised him to deliver these into your own
hands*"

The stranger gave them to him*

44 A bag of gold-dust," he explained. " and
a letter, I wrote it at his dictation while
he was dying* He lived hardly an hour
afterward*"

The stranger bowed his head at the
stricken cry which his news elicited from the
priest, who, after a few moments' vain effort
to speak, opened the letter and read:

My dear Friend, — It is through no man's fault
bat mine that I have come to this, I have had plenty
63

PADRE IGNACIO

of lack, and lately have been counting the days until
I should return home* But last night heavy news
from New Orleans reached me. and I tore the pressed
flower to pieces* Under the first smart and humilia
tion of broken faith I was tendered desperate, and
picked a needless quarrel. Thank God, it is I who
have the punishment. My dear friend, as I lie here,
leaving a world that no man ever loved more, I have
come to understand you. For you and your mission
have been much in my thoughts. It is strange how
good can be done, not at the time when it is intend
ed, but afterward; and you have done this good to
me. I say over your words, " Contentment with Re
nunciation/' and believe that at this last hour I have
gained something like what you would wish me to
feel. For I do not think that I desire it otherwise
now. My life would never have been of service, I
am afraid. You are the last person in this world who
has spoken serious words to me, and I want you to
know that now at length I value the peace of Santa
Ysabel as I could never have done but for seeing
your wisdom and goodness. You spoke of a new
organ for your church. Take the gold-dust that will
reach you with this, and do what you will with it.
Let me at least in dying have helped some one. And
since there is no aristocracy in souls — you said that
to me; do you remember? — perhaps you will say a
mass for this departing soul of mine. I only wish,
since my body must go under ground in a strange
64

PADRE IGNACIO

country, that it might have been at Santa Ysabel del
Mart where yoor feet would often pass,

* At Santa Ysabel del Mart where your
feet would often pass/'1 The priest re
peated this final sentence aloud, without
being aware of it*

" Those are the last words he ever spoke,"
said the stranger, " except bidding me
good-by."

" You knew him well, then?"

" No; not until after he was hurt* Fm
the man he quarreled with."

The priest looked at the ship that would
sail onward this afternoon.

Then a smile of great beauty passed over
his face, and he addressed the stranger.
44 1 thank you. You will never know what
you have done for me."

44 It is nothing," answered the stranger,
awkwardly. " He told me you set great
store on a new organ/'
65

PADRE IGNACIO

Padre Ignacio turned away from the ship
and rode back through the gorge* When
he had reached the shady place where once
he had sat with Gaston Villere, he dis
mounted and again sat there, alone by the
stream, for many hours* Long rides and
outings had been lately so much his cus
tom that no one thought twice of his ab
sence; and when he returned to the mission
in the afternoon* the Indian took his mule,
and he went to his seat in the garden* But
it was with another look that he watched
the sea; and presently the sail moved
across the blue triangle, and soon it had
rounded the headland*
With it departed Temptation for ever*
Gaston's first coming was in the Padre's
mind; and, as the vespers bell began to
ring in the cloistered silence, a fragment of
Auber's plaintive tune passed like a sigh

across his memory:

66

PADRE IGNACIO

For the repose of Gaston's young, world-
loving spirit, they sang all that he had
taught them of // Trwaiore.

After this day, Felipe and all those who
knew and loved the Padre best, saw seren
ity had returned to his features; but for
some reason they began to watch those
features with more care*

"Still," they said, "he is not old/' And
as the months went by they would repeat:
44 We shall have him yet for many years/'

Thus the season rolled round, bringing the
time for the expected messages from the
world. Padre Ignacio was wont to sit in
his garden, waiting for the ship, as of
old.

"As of old," they said, cheerfully, who
saw him* But Renunciation with Content-
67

PADRE IGNACIO

ment they could not see; it was deep down
in his silent and thankful heart*

One day Felipe went to call him from his
garden seat, wondering why the ringing of
the bell had not brought him to vespers*
Breviary in lap, and hands folded upon it,
the Padre sat among his flowers, looking at
the sea* Out there amid the sapphire-blue,
tranquil and white, gleamed the sails of the
barkentine* It had brought him a new
message, not from this world; and Padre
Ignacio was slowly borne in from the garden,
while the mission-bell tolled for the passing
of a human soul.

THE END

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